Ponyboy's Grade School Days
by Coca-Cola3012
Summary: A look back to what might have happened when Ponyboy was in grade school.
1. Gangs

Disclaimer: This is an Outsiders/Priscilla and the Wimps crossover. I'm stealing the ideas because I'm bored. They belong to S.E. Hinton and Richard Peck respectively. Does anyone wanna argue?

This takes place when Ponyboy is in grade school. Told from his point of view.

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My older brother, Darry, says that I'll have to watch out for gangs when I go to high school in a couple of years. But what he doesn't know, or care to listen to for that matter, is that you get gangs in grade school too.

Here, at grade school, there was one gang that ruled the place like the Mafia. They called themselves Chaunson's Cobras, led by Freddy Chaunson himself. He was in the eighth grade at the time, although judging by his actual age he ought to have been applying for college.

The classrooms were always safe, what with the teachers always hanging around, but the hallways were a holy terror. You needed a pass to go anywhere, and I'm not talking about a hall pass.

The Cobras had their own pass system. You didn't eat, drink, sleep, or go to the bathroom without a Cobra Pass, which the gang members all sold five dollars apiece.

Yeah, those Cobras had a good system going. But that was all about to change, and because of a girl, too.

That girl was Christine O'Malley. She was a giant, looming over us all. She was silent and calm, and if she had wanted to she could have set up a gang that would've turned the Cobras into garden snakes.

As far as I knew, she was friends with one person, Johnny Cade, because their lockers were right next to each other.

They made an odd pair. There was Christine, tall and daunting, and there was Johnny, small, scared and insignificant.

One day, Johnny was just minding his own business, taking his books out of his locker, when a Cobra came up to him and, grabbing him, pinned him against the wall.

"Where's your pass, twerp?" The Cobra asked bitingly. Poor Johnny was scared as anything, and he could barely talk with the other boy's grip on his neck.

"P-pass? What for this time?" Johnny choked out finally. The Cobra grinned.

"Let's call it a pass for being short. A dwarf tax," he laughed. "Now hand over your money, shrimp."

Johnny was all set to do as he was told, when Christine turned around and, quickly and neatly as anything, brought her hand down hard to break the Cobra's grip on Johnny.

The hall was silent. Somebody, a girl at that, had dared to hit a Cobra in someone else's defense?

"Who's your leader, wimp?" Christine asked in a hard voice. The Cobra was so surprised that she didn't know that he actually answered her. "F-Freddy Chaunson," he stammered.

"Never heard of him," Christine said. "Bring him here."

Pretty soon, Freddy, the King Cobra himself, came slithering over. "Who's been asking for me?" he demanded.

"Me," Christine said. Freddy looked up at her. His expression suggested that he was arguing with himself. He would never hit a girl, then again, she might as well have been saying, "Please hit me."

So, instead, he turned to Johnny, who was cowering. "Kid," Freddy snarled. "You're gonna have to teach your girlfriend a lesson." Freddy drew his arm back to hit Johnny.

His fist never even took off, let alone hit the trembling target. Christine had dropped her books, grabbed Freddy in a headlock and had both his arms behind his back in a hammerlock.

My jaw dropped. I couldn't believe my eyes. Neither could anybody else, especially Johnny, whose black eyes were bugging out.

Christine marched Freddy into her own locker, stuffing him in. The last I saw of him was his sneakers clicking together before they disappeared into the locker.

Christine slammed the door shut, twirled the lock, picked up her books and strolled out of school into the blistery December weather, Johnny tagging along behind her.

After that, nature, a force much greater than even Christine herself, took its course. It snowed that night, a snowstorm that quickly turned into a blizzard. The town iced up. Everything froze. And school closed for a week.

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You like? I don't. Mostly because I stole the idea and just applied it to the Outsiders.

Kindly review.


	2. Halloween Night

**Halloween **

Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders. DUH.

Ponyboy Curtis pulled the sheet over his head and peered through the eyeholes his mother had cut out.

His father was currently poring over the bills, muttering to himself under his breath. Ponyboy sneaked as quickly and as quietly as he could until he was just behind his father's chair.

"BOO!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. His father spun around, his startled look relaxing into a smile.

"Ooh, you really got me there, Pony," he said, pretending to be scared. Sodapop ran by in his devil costume, which had been Darry's last year.

"Arrgh!" he bellowed. Mr. Curtis put on a look of mock-terror.

"Oh dear, oh me, oh my! Spooks and ghouls running all about this Halloween night!" he exclaimed.

Sodapop pulled up his mask. "It's only me, Daddy. Don't be scared," he said sincerely. Mr. Curtis chuckled and ruffled his son's dark gold hair.

Darry strode by. "And just what are you supposed to be, Junior?" his father demanded.

"Nothing," Darry said. Mr. Curtis' eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Nothing?" he echoed in disbelief.

"Nothing," Darry said firmly. "I'm eleven and therefore too old for trick or treating."

Mrs. Curtis entered the room. "Ready to go, boys?" she asked. Ponyboy and Sodapop nodded eagerly. "Darry, where's your costume?" she said upon spotting Darry.

"He's too old for trick or treating," Soda explained. Mrs. Curtis nodded seriously, although an amused light danced in her eyes.

"Alright, Darry," she said. Soda and Ponyboy ran off to grab their trick-or-treating sacks and Darry disappeared for a while. He reappeared just as Mrs. Curtis was seeing off Ponyboy and Sodapop.

"And just where do you think you're going?" she demanded. "I'm going out with some friends," Darry said uncomfortably, shuffling his feet.

Mr. Curtis raised his eyebrows at his son's bulging pockets. "Going out for a night of throwing eggs and shaving cream at people's houses, eh?"

Darry said nothing, but his bright red face gave him away. Mr. Curtis grinned. "Have a good time, son!"

Mrs. Curtis made a disapproving noise and rolled her eyes. "What?" demanded Mr. Curtis. She just shook her head and left the room.

"Thanks, Dad," Darry said gratefully. They could hear Ponyboy's and Sodapop's delighted screams down the street as they joined up with Two-Bit, Johnny, and Steve.

"Don't get in too much trouble!" Mr. Curtis hollered as an afterthought. All he got in response was the sound of the door slamming as Darry left.

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"Johnny, we got matching costumes!" Ponyboy exclaimed happily. Johnny warily lifted his sheet to see Ponyboy.

"Yeah, but at least you can see through it," Johnny pointed out. "My mom and dad would kill me if I cut holes in anything."

"Why do I agree to your dumb ideas, Soda?" Steve groused. "I look like a doofus! I look like a blasted pansy. Why couldn't _I_ be the devil?"

"Because I didn't fit into that costume, remember?" Soda reminded his best friend. "Stop complaining. I think you make a very pretty angel."

Steve wished he knew some bad words to say as his halo fell off again. Two-Bit broke the tension, as usual. "I'm a clown!" he announced proudly.

"Hey, Two-Bit," teased Soda. "The point of Halloween is that you're supposed to be something that you're _not_ everyday."

"Where's Dally?" Johnny asked suddenly. Two-Bit shrugged. "He said he had better things to do on Halloween night than trick-or-treat. I think he went with Tim Shepard."

The boys started off. Three houses later, Steve got a wicked idea for some scary Halloween fun. "Hey, Ponyboy," he said.

"Yeah?" Ponyboy said in his childish voice. "You know that old house down the next street your mom says we can't go to?" Steve said softly.

"Yeah, what about it?" Ponyboy wanted to know. "It's _haunted,"_ Steve whispered right in Ponyboy's ear. Ponyboy felt chills run up and down his spine and goose bumps erupt on his arms.

"It is not," Ponyboy said, though uncertainly. True, the real reason they weren't allowed up there was because a group of drug dealers were hiding from the fuzz in that old abandoned place, but Steve wasn't about to let Ponyboy in on that information.

"It is," Steve said. By now, Johnny, Two-Bit and Soda were listening, fascinated. "There was a guy and a girl that lived up there years ago, but now the place is abandoned. The guy killed the girl. He shot her. And now she haunts the place!"

Ponyboy was wide-eyed with fear. "A ghost?" he exclaimed. Steve rolled his eyes. "No duh, genius," he said obnoxiously.

"There's no such things as ghosts," Soda said confidently. "Dad says so," he added, as if that settled the matter.

"Dally says he saw a ghost, once," Johnny said, lifting his sheet so he could see. Up until then, he had been clinging to Two-Bit to keep from banging into walls or lampposts.

Everyone turned towards Johnny. "He said he saw the ghost of a lady up at that old house," Johnny went on. "She had wavy brown hair and she wore some old-time dress. Dally said she smiled and waved at him and then turned and walked through a wall!"

"Is that the lady that got killed there?" Ponyboy asked, turning to Steve. "Of course she is," Steve lied. He had no idea, but he wasn't about to let that show.

"Let's go up there!" Soda announced loudly. "Mom says we can't!" Ponyboy protested.

"But it's Halloween! We have to have more fun than just eating candy!" Soda said. "C'mon, you know you want to," he said enticingly. "What if we get in trouble?" Johnny said.

"We won't," Two-Bit said confidently. "You don't _have_ to go…if you're too chicken," he teased. That did it.

"Alright! Off we go!" Soda cheered.

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Darry sped down the streets to the vacant lot. He stopped at the edge and whistled a long low note that ended suddenly in a high note. He received the same whistle in return and he hurried over to where the whistle was coming from.

"Didja get everything?" Dally whispered. "Yeah," Darry whispered back. "Good. So everybody knows the plan?" Tim Shepard whispered. The small gaggle of boys, of which Tim was the leader, murmured their hushed agreements.

"Okay. Let's go," Tim whispered. The boys all set off on their adventure, which was to begin at the abandoned, crumbling house on the next street.

As they hurried noiselessly down the street, Darry wondered briefly why he got involved in these sorts of things anyway. _When I'm older, I'll use my head,_ he promised himself firmly.

When they reached the house, they were silent and solemn. "Keep it down," Tim advised. "If the freaks inside catch us, we're dead meat."

Wordlessly Darry started handing out all the materials. Tim boosted up his brother, Curly, to look inside the window. "They're sleeping," Curly whispered softly. "All clear."

"Stoned sleeping or regular sleeping?" Tim demanded. Even at age ten, Tim Shepard was well aware of things most kids up to five or six years older than him weren't aware of.

"Stoned." Curly was knowledgeable about most of what Tim was. Tim turned to the band of restless boys.

"Ready?" Hushed murmurs of agreement and nods. Tim grinned evilly. "All right," he said. "Let's have some fun."

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"Soda," Steve was saying irritably. "The _point_ is to keep quiet so the ghosts don't hear us!"

"I can't help it. I'm excited!" Soda announced, jumping up and down. Two-Bit was of no help, as he was accompanying Soda in bouncing everywhere happily.

Ponyboy was starting to feel afraid. He wasn't sure he wanted to meet this ghost. But it was either that or Steve think he was a baby, and that was what Ponyboy wanted the least.

They settled down and crept quietly along as the house came into view. They were quieter than a group of cats at a dog show, and went unnoticed to the troublemakers hiding in the shadows.

Soda and Two-Bit each hoisted up the two younger ones, leaving Steve to scramble up onto a ledge to look in the window.

"Whaddya see?" Two-Bit hissed. "Nothing," Ponyboy said truthfully, "just a bunch of sleeping guys."

"Great ghost, Steve," Soda said, clearly disappointed. But he had spoken too soon.

Johnny screamed. "It's a GHOST!" he yelped, pointing. Ponyboy screamed too. Steve fell off the ledge and screamed because he scraped his knee. Soda screamed because he was scared, and Two-Bit screamed because everyone else was screaming and he felt left out.

The five boys ran from the spot, hollering and frightened out of their wits.

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Meanwhile, Tim, Dally, Darry, and the other boys leapt up at the sound of screaming. The drug dealers were miraculously still asleep.

"Quick! Let's split!" Tim hissed urgently. The boys leapt out through the window and sped off into the night. All but one.

The wind spun it's silent, eerie chill through the empty streets. The full Halloween moon cast silver light, and the last remaining boy stepped out of the old abandoned house.

He dropped to the ground in agony as the moonlight hit his body. He cried out in pain as fingernails grew into claws, teeth transformed into fangs, and black fur sprouted out on his face and arms.

The cry of pain changed rapidly into a piercing howl. He howled again, throwing his head back and crying to the full moon. He snarled, saliva dripping from his canines. He was hungry.

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Meanwhile, the drug dealers had awoken from their stoned sleep. They may have been drug dealers, but they weren't stupid. They knew what the night was, and the current lunar position.

As soon as they heard the werewolf's cry, they leapt out and ran in the other direction as fast as they could, praying that the monster wouldn't hear them.

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The five unfortunate trick-or-treaters heard the howl as well. Two-Bit yelped, "It's a monster!" Ponyboy cried in terror, running close to Soda.

They weren't close enough to home, but just close enough to the abandoned house. They were heard by the wolf's acute ears and smelled by his sensitive nose.

Steve heard footsteps behind him. He turned and gasped in disbelief. Soda looked where Steve was gaping and his jaw dropped. The same could be said for Two-Bit, Johnny, and Ponyboy, who was too terrified to scream.

The werewolf grinned as well as a wolf could. Here, finally, was fresh meat to satisfy his insatiable appetite. He leaped…

Steve looked around wildly and spotted a broken pop bottle on the ground. He scooped it up and flung it as hard as he could at the animal.

It hit the wolf square in the face. Dark red blood trickled down, and he howled in pain.

The boys took this opportunity to run wildly back to the Curtis house.

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The door slammed and Soda, Ponyboy, Johnny, Two-Bit, and Steve all leaned against the door, panting.

"What happened to you boys?" Mrs. Curtis demanded, scrutinizing the boys. Ponyboy was shaking, Soda was comforting him, Johnny was white as a sheet and Two-Bit's face held a look of shock.

"It's a long story," Steve muttered.

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Two hours later, Darry came home. "You're home awfully late, son," Mr. Curtis remarked, turning to face his son. "Goodness, Darry, what happened to you!"

Darry's hand flew up to the gash on his cheek. He could imagine how bad it looked with all the dried blood.

Right now, though, he didn't much care about how he looked. He had experienced something totally new, totally terrifying…and yet exhilarating. It had been a very unusual journey of self discovery.

"I, uh…" He searched for an excuse. "Socs," he finished lamely. Mr. Curtis frowned. "Be careful," he advised, turning back to his work.

Darry grinned, heading upstairs. He ran his tongue across his teeth one more time, just to make absolutely sure they were normal again.

This had definitely been the most interesting Halloween of his life. He couldn't wait until next Halloween.

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Silly, cheesy, pointless? I know. But it was fun to write.

Happy Halloween! Review, please?


	3. A Dream Forgotten

**A Dream Forgotten**

Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders. So bug off.

Ponyboy rolled over in bed, tired and yet unable to fall asleep. His eyelids drooped, but the events of just a few weeks ago kept flooding back into his brain, shocking him awake.

His parents were dead. All because of a car accident. If only his parents hadn't been on the road. If only the other driver were dead, too. If only the other driver hadn't been drunk. If only they had _STOPPED!_

He couldn't take this anymore. Ponyboy swung his legs out of bed and fumbled for the light. He quickly and quietly swallowed two aspirins, and immediately felt sleepier.

He switched off the light, buried himself under his covers, and succumbed to the waves of slumber washing over him.

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He woke up and it was still dark. He switched on the light again. He turned sleepily and gasped as he came face to face with someone else.

He relaxed as he realized it was only a mirror. But on the middle of his bed? Something wasn't right.

He turned again and started at the sight of Darry and Soda standing in the doorway. None of the hall lights were on. It was completely dark, except for Ponyboy's bedside lamp.

His brothers were smiling eerily. "Turn off the light, Ponyboy," Soda said in a pleasant monotone, still smiling. "Yes, Ponyboy, turn off the light. It is time to sleep," Darry agreed, sounding exactly like Soda.

"W-why?" Ponyboy stammered. "Why do you guys sound like that?"

"Like what?" Soda asked, now sounding mildly curious. "Turn off the light, Ponyboy. Darkness is good."

"Yes, Ponyboy," Darry said. "Turn off the light." Ponyboy automatically reached out to obey, but stopped himself. Something wasn't right.

"Why?" he asked, his voice stronger. "I don't want to."

"Ponyboy," Soda said, both his and Darry's smiles fading into scowls. _"Turn off the light."_

"NO!" Ponyboy shouted, now terrified. He bit back a scream as Soda howled and leaped on the ceiling. Darry roared and melted into the floor, disappearing. And then they were gone.

_I have to keep the light on,_ Ponyboy thought. He leapt up and turned on another light, grabbing a flashlight before heading out into the hall to turn on those lights, too.

As soon as he stepped outside, he ran head on into Johnny. "Johnny?" Ponyboy exclaimed, amazed. "What're you doing here?"

"Ponyboy, I'm trying to sleep. You should turn off the light," Johnny said calmly, smiling in a way that was horrifyingly familiar.

Ponyboy yelled in terror and ran past Johnny, hollering. Fortunately, he had enough of his wits about him to flick on the hall light before running down the stairs, flashlight beam guiding his way.

He heard Johnny's enraged scream as he, too, was overcome by the light. Heart pounding and sweat running down his face, Ponyboy looked around wildly.

No one else was around. Not as long as the lights were on. But it was dark here, and Ponyboy stumbled around trying to find the lamp.

"I broke the lamps," said a voice from behind him. Ponyboy froze. He knew that tone of voice all too well. He turned around slowly.

"Hello, Ponyboy," said Steve coolly. "Why don't you give me that flashlight? Light isn't good for you. Darkness is better."

Ponyboy gasped in horror. Broke the lamps? But that meant…there was no escape. He was trapped.

Numbly and without really realizing it, Ponyboy began to back away slowly. Steve smiled. "Run all you want, Ponyboy. You can't get away from the darkness…"

Ponyboy backed into the wall. _As long as I have a light, he can't come near me,_ he thought. He held the flashlight firmly in his right hand, aimed directly at Steve, who was still smiling. His free hand fumbled around for something, anything that might help him.

It hit something cold and hard and round. _The doorknob!_ Ponyboy thought happily. _The door's always unlocked._

He twisted and pushed, nearly falling backwards as he tripped outside.

Ponyboy let out a laugh of triumph, squinting in the bright sunlight. _But it was just night and I was sleeping…oh, whatever,_ Ponyboy thought. _The point is, I'm out!_

He began walking, not knowing where he was going. He was barefoot and in his pajamas, but he couldn't risk going back inside. It was too dangerous.

"Glory, kid, what do you think you're doing?" Ponyboy turned to see a beat up old car following him slowly. Leaning outside from the driver's side was…

"Two-Bit!" Ponyboy cried joyfully. "Boy, am I glad to see you!"

"Get in, kid," Two-Bit said, grinning. Ponyboy did so gratefully. This had to be the real Two-Bit. It was broad daylight, and in any case Two-Bit sounded like himself. Not strange and emotionless, like the look-alike demons of his brothers and Johnny and Steve.

"So, Pony," Two-Bit said when they had been driving for a while. "Why are you out at high noon, wearing your pajamas and barefoot?"

Ponyboy then launched into the story, how he had woken up to those demons and escaped from them. Two-Bit listened to all this silently and seriously.

"But it's over now," Ponyboy finished. He leaned over to look out the window. They were approaching a tunnel now. "It's all over."

Two-Bit looked over at him seriously, eyes stormy and expression stony. "No," he said. "It's not."

And then they drove forward, into the pitch black tunnel.

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Ponyboy screamed. He screamed and thrashed all around, flailing his arms and legs. "No! Light…darkness…no….get…light…"

"Pony! Ponyboy! Ponyboy Michael Curtis, for Pete's sake, wake up!" someone was shouting.

Ponyboy's eyes flew open. "Darry? Is that really you?" he asked warily.

"Well, who else would I be?" Darry demanded, annoyed. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"Yeah," Ponyboy said, relief flooding him. "Yeah. Just a bad dream. Just a dream."

"Well, glory, Pony, you were screaming like you were dying! What kind of a bad dream was that?"

Ponyboy opened his mouth to tell Darry, but found himself at a loss for words. That had been the most terrifying dream he had had, and yet…

"I can't remember."

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Review, please? I know it's not so good. But whatever.


	4. Surgery

**Surgery**

Disclaimer: I own neither the plot nor the characters. They belong respectively to R.L. Stine (Well, most of it anyway) and S.E. Hinton.

Ponyboy held tightly onto his mother's hand, glancing around nervously. At ten, he thought he was too old to be doing any such thing, but this was a special occasion.

The walls of the east side Tulsa hospital were a sickly green, a pungent smell of disinfectant in the air. His parents were walking on either side of him. His father was giving him a pep talk.

"Listen, Ponyboy, this is just a standard procedure. Getting your tonsils out is no big deal. Just think, no more sore and swollen throat," he said encouragingly. Ponyboy said nothing, but clung tighter to his mother.

Ponyboy stopped paying attention as they followed the nurse down the hall to the children's ward. He had been in a hospital before, but never for himself. Truth be told, he was ready to break loose and make a mad dash for the exit.

Darry had told him not to worry. Sodapop had comforted him and told him it might be fun going to surgery if he was going to be riding in on a cart. Two-Bit, as usual, had made a funny joke and made Ponyboy laugh, making him feel better. Dally had shrugged coolly, and Johnny had given him a sympathetic look.

All of his friends had been sympathetic in their own way. Everyone except Steve. He was the sole reason Ponyboy was terrified.

"You know what they do sometimes at the hospital, Pony?" Steve had asked softly when he was sure Ponyboy was the only one listening.

"No, what?" an unsuspecting Ponyboy had replied. Unable to keep a nasty smile from spreading across his face, Steve leaned in and whispered chillingly in Ponyboy's ear, "Sometimes, they mix up people."

Ponyboy's jaw dropped, but Steve went on before he had a chance to say anything. "Yeah, they mix up people's charts, so one person could actually get what another person needs. And down there, they ain't so careful about some kid getting his tonsils removed. They're too busy worrying about other folks who've got shot up or stabbed or something."

"N-no, they don't," Ponyboy said, trying to come off as confident but sounding scared. This only provoked Steve to go further.

"It's true. They mix people up. You'd better be careful, make sure you tell then who you are before you go under the knife," Steve said pleasantly, lighting up a cigarette.

So now, Ponyboy was terrified that he would leave with a heart transplant or brain surgery done instead of his tonsils removed. _Good old Steve,_ he thought bitterly. He said goodbye to his parents, hoping that when he saw them again he would still be normal.

The nurse gave him a hospital gown and a hand I.D. bracelet. He checked it frantically, relaxing only when he was sure it read "Ponyboy Curtis."

Meanwhile, the nurse was arguing with the boy in the next bed. "Martin, I'm going to ask you one last time of you want a drink of water," the nurse was saying, sounding frazzled.

The boy scowled up at her angrily, eyes flashing. He slammed his fists on the bed, shouting, "I'm not Martin!"

The nurse sighed, rolling her eyes and walking over to Ponyboy's side of the room, drawing closed the curtain that separated Ponyboy and Not-Martin. "Ponyboy, can I get you anything?" she asked kindly. "Assuming that you are Ponyboy," she added, rolling her eyes.

"No thanks. Um, why is that kid saying he's not Martin?" Ponyboy asked, lowering his voice. The nurse responded in a whisper, kneeling by Ponyboy's bed. "Poor kid, he's in for a big surgery. He's so scared, he seems to have convinced himself that he's someone else. But he really is Martin Charles."

Remembering Steve's words, Ponyboy said, "Are you sure he's Martin?" The nurse nodded. "We called in his parents to identify him. He is Martin Charles."

"Why is he so scared?" Ponyboy asked, unable to fathom what could have gotten Martin—or whoever he was—so terrified. The nurse leaned in closer to whisper in Ponyboy's ear, "He has to get his left foot removed."

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Later, the kid drew open the curtains. "Hi," he said tonelessly. Ponyboy, who had been reading, replied, "Hi. I'm Ponyboy."

"Cool name," the kid said. When he said nothing else, Ponyboy asked him, "What's your name?"

The kid glared him and stated coldly, "I'm not Martin." _Weird kid,_ Ponyboy thought. They were silent for a while. Finally, the kid asked, "Are you a heavy or light sleeper?"

"Huh?" Ponyboy said stupidly at the unexpectedness of the question. "I asked you, are you a heavy or light sleeper?" the kid repeated.

"Uh, heavy, I guess," Ponyboy said, flabbergasted at the strange question. The kid gave him a long, hard look, then started to draw the curtains shut. "I'm tired," he said coolly.

_That was weird,_ Ponyboy thought, turning back to his book. He thought nothing more of it.

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The nurse came in to give Ponyboy medicine. "This is all you can have," she warned. "You can't have surgery on a full stomach. This will put you to sleep."

"Okay," Ponyboy said drowsily, his eyes already closing. Immediately, he entered a series of weird dreams.

In his most vivid one, though, he was sitting up in bed. The room was dark except for a shadowy figure holding two clipboards. One of them clearly read "Martin Charles." The figure hung that one on Ponyboy's bed and crept away with the other. Ponyboy tried to speak but he couldn't.

He woke up to see a man bending over him. "Eh? What's going on?" he said groggily, tying to sit up. The man held him down. "Easy does it, Martin. It's time for your surgery."

Ponyboy was now wide awake. "W-what?" he stuttered. "No. You don't understand. I'm not Martin!"

The man rolled his eyes. "They told me you'd say that," he muttered. "It's on your clipboard. Martin Charles."

Panicking, Ponyboy started to scream. "No! No! You don't understand! I'M NOT MARTIN!"

Ignoring him, the man began to wheel him down the hallway to the surgery room. As much as he screamed, everyone ignored him. As much as he tried to run, the man held him down. And all the while, Steve's dire warning echoed in his head.

Just as he entered the surgery room, Ponyboy glanced back at the room. Martin was standing in the doorway, grinning widely and waving goodbye. And then the surgery room doors swung shut.

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Ponyboy woke up groggily. All the events came rushing back to him and he sat up straight, trying to scream but unable. He swung his legs around, dangling them off the bed. He sighed in relief as he realized he still had both his feet.

_It was all a dream,_ he thought happily. The door opened and the nurse came in with ice cream. "It'll make your throat feel better," she said. Ponyboy wasn't about to refuse. Then he got a sudden inspiration.

"Hey, nurse?" he asked politely. "Can I ask you for one last favor?"

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"Hey, Ponyboy!" Soda shouted, barging in, followed by Darry and his parents. Ponyboy, who had been laying on his back staring at the ceiling, turned and grinned weakly.

"Hey, guys," he said quietly. "Where's Steve?" he asked suddenly. His father pretended to look hurt. "We come all the way down here to see you and you want Steve?"

"Please," Ponyboy pleaded. "I need to tell him something."

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Steve appeared in Ponyboy's room half an hour later, looking confused. "What gives, Ponyboy?" he demanded, irked.

Ponyboy turned towards him, face deathly pale. He stretched out an arm weakly. "Steve…" he said hoarsely.

"Ponyboy?" Steve exclaimed, shocked. "What happened to you?" The nurse entered, holding a syringe.

"Step aside, son," she said grimly to Steve. She pricked Ponyboy with the syringe, and the effect was electric. Ponyboy jumped about half a foot out of his bed and started shaking uncontrollably.

"What happened to him?" Steve demanded, sounding pretty shaken himself. The nurse sighed and shook her head sadly. "He's in shock since his surgery. Convinced himself he's not Martin Charles."

Steve's jaw dropped. "B-but he's not!" he exclaimed. The nurse frowned at him, pointing to the clipboard that hung on Ponyboy's bed. "Not according to his clipboard. He's Martin Charles, and he just got surgery to get his left foot removed."

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Soda, Darry, and their parents looked up with astonishment as Steve tore out of Ponyboy's room, screaming in terror. He bolted down the hallway and out the door, still yelling at the top of his lungs.

Soda entered Ponyboy's room like a tornado, banging the door. "What did you say to Steve?" he demanded, for once angry at his little brother.

Ponyboy looked up calmly from his book. "Nothing," he responded. "He asked me how my surgery went, and I told him."

The End.

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Whaddya think? Review, please.


	5. Christmas

**Christmas**

Soda was decorating the tree. Darry sighed, saying, "Soda. You're supposed to wrap the tinsel _around_ the tree, not throw it all over the place!"

"But it looks prettier that way!" Soda insisted. Darry turned away, exasperated. "Pony!" he hollered. "Can you get your nose out of that book for five minutes to help us out here?"

"Huh?" Ponyboy said stupidly, looking up from _Hatchet._ Mr. Curtis walked through the room with an armful of lights.

"Hey, Junior," he greeted Darry. "Feel up to helping me out with the lights?" Darry grinned, grabbing his coat, and followed his father outside, glad to be away from his brothers, one of which of a little _too_ creative and one of which didn't pay any attention.

Pony marked his page and stood up to help Soda. "Soda," he said. "Let me do the tinsel."

"Okay," Soda said cheerfully, dancing around the tree putting ornaments on. The front door slammed and a grinning Two-Bit entered with Steve and Johnny in tow.

"Hi everybody!" Two-Bit yelled at the top of his lungs. "Hello, Keith, Johnny, Steve," Mrs. Curtis greeted the three boys, gently taking a spoon out of Soda's hand.

"Sodapop, dear, silverware doesn't belong on the tree." Soda shrugged, unfazed, and continued decorating. Steve joined him half-heartedly upon request.

Ponyboy, meanwhile, was having trouble putting tinsel on the upper branches of the tree. "Boy," he said half-aloud. "Where did Dad manage to get such a big tree this year?"

"Maybe you're just shrinking, Pony," Two-Bit said, flopping down to watch. Steve glared to Two-Bit. "Care to join us, _Keith?"_ he snarled, throwing a popcorn string at him. Two-Bit shook his head and began eating the popcorn off the thread.

Johnny, meanwhile, a bit taller than Ponyboy, had managed to string the popcorn a couple of feet higher. But the tree was only covered about three-quarters, and none of them were tall enough to get decorations any higher.

"Why don't we call you mom?" Two-Bit suggested. "No way!" Ponyboy insisted. "We're old enough to do this ourselves for the first time, and I'm not gonna let you blow it!"

"Yeah, and she went shopping for Christmas dinner too," Soda added. "Dad's outside on the roof with Darry…how are we going to do this?"

Two-Bit kneeled. "Get on my shoulders, Johnny," he commanded. Johnny did so, and sitting on Two-Bit's shoulders he was able to string more tinsel.

Soda turned to Steve. "Which one of us is heavier?" he asked. Steve shrugged. "How do I know?"

"Why don't we try lifting each other?" Soda suggested. Ponyboy settled back to watch. This would be interesting.

First, Soda tried lifting Steve off his feet. He was too heavy for Soda to handle, and they both fell over. The same thing happened when Steve tried picking up Soda.

"You're both the same height," Ponyboy commented. "I think you're the same weight too."

"So let's lift you," Soda said, looking pleased at having found the solution. Ponyboy's eyes grew wide and he blanched. "W-what?"

"What are you, scared?" Two-Bit mocked. Ponyboy set his jaw. He was not about to let the gang think he was a scaredy cat kid brother.

"All right," he said, striding towards Steve and Soda. "Whenever you're ready." He tried not to yelp as Soda lifted him up on his shoulders. Steve handed Pony and Johnny decorations from the ground.

_This isn't so bad after all,_ Ponyboy thought, relaxing.

They finally finished, but there was one problem. Neither Ponyboy nor Johnny could reach high enough to put the star on top.

"I'll do it!" Two-Bit announced. "Give me a lift, guys." Reluctantly, Soda and Steve cupped their hands so each of them was balancing each of Two-Bit's feet.

"Careful," Ponyboy said unnecessarily as the two best friends hoisted Two-Bit higher and higher. Two-Bit was finally able to stretch and put the star on. It balanced precariously at the tip.

The five boys breathed a sigh of relief. They were finally done, with no damage to either themselves or the tree.

As it turned out, they had thought wrong.

Steve sneezed. Two-Bit rocked. "Watch it!" he shouted, grabbing hold of the tree for support.

"Don't hold on to the tree!" Ponyboy groaned too late. The tree swayed dangerously. Soda and Steve let go of Two-Bit's feet and watched in horror.

Ponyboy and Johnny ran to the other side of the tree to push it in the other direction. "Don't let it fall!" Pony yelped.

Two-Bit held on for dear life as the tree rocked back and forth crazily. At long last, the tree came detached from its base and toppled.

Ponyboy and Johnny scrambled out of the way. Soda hollered, "Timber!" as the tree went down.

"Yaaaaaah!" Two-Bit screamed as he went down. He landed with a crash, broken ornaments tinkling and the star nearly putting out Ponyboy's eye as it went whizzing past, having come loose from the tree.

The five boys groaned simultaneously, all their hard work having gone to waste.

Mr. Curtis, Darry, and Mrs. Curtis, their faces pink from the cold and mouths hanging slightly open, gaped at the scene before them.

Darry was the first to recover. He cracked up, leaning on his father to keep from falling over with laughter.

Mrs. Curtis glared at her husband. "Oh, sure," she commented sarcastically. "Sure, Darrell, they didn't need any help at all. They're big boys; they managed the tree just fine on their own."

Darrell Senior shrugged and looked sheepish. "'Tis the season?" he tried half-heartedly.

The End.

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Cheesy, I know. But whatever, and Happy Holidays to all of ya'll.


	6. Birthday Cake

**Birthday Cake**

"Darry!" someone hissed urgently. Darry mumbled incoherently through his sleep and rolled over. "Darry!" the voice whispered again.

Darry swatted at the voice unsuccessfully. He didn't feel like moving from his warm, safe bed. "Leave me alone…" he groaned.

"Darry!" Ponyboy was whining in his ear now. "You have to get up! You promised you'd help me make Soda's cake!"

"Cake? I don't want any cake," Darry said through a yawn. He opened his eyes and immediately wished that he'd kept them closed.

"It's not _for_ you, Darry," Ponyboy said impatiently. "It's for Soda. It's his birthday and he's eight now."

"Good for him," Darry muttered, "wake me up later." He pulled the covers over his head and attempted to fall back asleep, but Ponyboy had other plans for him. He pulled the covers off Darry and flung them on the floor.

Darry shivered at the early morning chill and sat up, glaring at Ponyboy. "Ponyboy," he said irritably. "It's three o'clock in the morning. Go to sleep!" he roared, falling back on his bed.

"Fine," Ponyboy said sulkily. "I'll just do it myself." He crept down the stairs, jumping the ones that creaked, quieter than a cat at a dog show.

_What does Mom use when she makes cake?_ Ponyboy thought to himself. _Cake mix!_

He darted into the pantry and started rummaging around for cake mix. There was none left. "Darn," Ponyboy said aloud. He stood up straight, thinking.

_What does Mom do when she doesn't have cake mix?_ Ponyboy wondered to himself. _She goes out and buys some. Hmmm… _Then he remembered a cooking show he had watched once. It had been the middle of summer, too hot to play outside, and there had been nothing else to watch.

Eggs. Ponyboy took as many as he could carry out of the refrigerator and carried them to the kitchen counter. He dropped them hard enough to break in a bowl. He found a wooden spoon after an extensive search and began stirring.

_Am I supposed to leave the eggshells in?_ He wondered. _Oh well. Too late to take them out now._

Flour. Ponyboy dragged the huge flour bag across the kitchen floor up to the kitchen counter. _Cooking is hard work!_ He thought, muscles straining and sweat beads decorating his forehead.

He considered lifting the bag up to the kitchen counter to reach the bowl, but remembered his father's words: _"Ponyboy, always use your head."_

He set the bowl on the floor and tipped the bag over. Flour poured into the bowl, as well as all over the floor. A cloud of dust rose delicately, making Ponyboy sneeze.

He kicked the bag to the side. He would deal with that later.

Baking soda. He poured the entire box in. What else? The batter looked kind of dry. Ponyboy carried the bowl over to the sink and filled it with tap water.

He mixed the batter vigorously. It splattered onto his arms, face, and the sink. Ponyboy finally sat back, satisfied. But he felt like something was missing.

"Of course!" he said aloud. "Chocolate!" He ran to find the chocolate candy bars he had hoarded since Halloween.

He tried breaking them with his hands, but the pieces were still too big. Then he remembered his father's toolbox in the garage.

Soon, Ponyboy was back and smashing the candy bars into convenient little pieces with a hammer he could barely grasp. He hoped all the noise wouldn't wake up his family.

"Done!" he said with satisfaction when the chocolate was mixed in with the batter. Yet somehow, the batter still seemed to be too thick.

The blender. His mother always used it when something was too thick. Standing on tiptoes to reach the blander, Ponyboy tipped all the batter into it and turned it on.

He immediately realized his mistake. He had forgotten to put the top on. Cake mix splattered all over the kitchen.

Ponyboy hurriedly turned off the blender. He was dripping in the gooey stuff. He licked it off his chin. It actually wasn't half bad.

"What on earth—?" someone exclaimed. Ponyboy whirled around guiltily. His entire family was standing there in their pajamas, bemused, or in Soda and Darry's cases, amused.

"What happened here?" Mrs. Curtis demanded. Soda and Darry struggled to keep the guffaws from spilling out of their mouths.

"I just wanted to make a cake for Soda," Ponyboy said in a small voice, fighting tears just as hard as his brothers were fighting laughter.

"A cake? For me?" Soda said, getting excited. Mrs. Curtis sighed. "Ponyboy, why didn't you ask someone to help you?"

"I asked Darry," Ponyboy said. "But he was asleep."

They turned accusingly to Darry. "It was three in the morning!" he protested. "In my defense, why did he have to wake me up? Why not Mom or Dad?"

Ponyboy opened his mouth, and then closed it. He hadn't thought of that. He said so, and Darry rolled his eyes.

"I just wanted to do something special for Soda's birthday," Ponyboy said sadly, the corners of his mouth turning down.

Soda hugged him. "Thanks, Pony," he said appreciatively. "It's the thought that counts, right?"

"Right," Darry said, snickering behind his hand, though for a different reason now. Mr. Curtis laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, Ponyboy," Mrs. Curtis sighed exasperatedly.

"What?" Ponyboy demanded, looking around at them. "What did I say?"

"Pony," Soda said gently. "My birthday's not till tomorrow."

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Well, there you have it. Just a little something I put up for my friend's birthday (today) and my birthday (Dec. 30). And happy early/belated birthday to the rest of you, too. Enjoy!


	7. Cards, Collusions and Killers

**Cards, a Collusion and a Killer**

It was a dark and stormy night. It sounds cliché, I know, but that was the only to describe it.

Steve, Soda, Two-Bit, Dallas, Darry, Johnny and me were all involved in an intense game of cards.

"Any fives?"

"Go fish."

Dallas threw down his hand. "This is bogus!" he shouted. "Come on. I'll show you guys how to play poker."

I edged away from Steve. I still haven't forgiven him for scaring me about surgery…or the Christmas tree incident (it _was_ Steve's fault for sneezing)…or that Halloween night a few years ago…actually, come to think of it, most of the rotten stuff that happens to me is Steve's fault.

I was in a reckless mood as it is, and then I got an idea. It was devilish and wicked, and could even be seen as cruel, depending on how you looked at it.

It was brilliant.

I nudged Johnny and raised my eyebrows pointedly at him. He got my meaning and nodded slightly.

"I'm going to get some chocolate milk," I said loudly.

"I'll come with you, Ponyboy," Johnny said.

I was surprised no one was suspicious. We sounded like a couple of bad actors on TV, speaking in choppy monotones. Maybe I'll get better at acting and lying, which is basically acting, when I'm older. I figure I've got time. I'm only nine.

In the kitchen, Johnny leaned in and whispered (not that it made any difference, since he speaks so soft anyway), "So? What's up?"

"I want to get back at Steve," I said. "I'm tired of him messing me up. The surgery thing, the Christmas tree thing—"

Johnny cut me off. "Aw, Ponyboy. 'An eye for an eye make the whole world blind,' you don't want—"

"Don't you start quoting Mahatma Gandhi at me!" I practically shouted, remembering too late that everyone could hear me in the next room.

"Who?" Johnny crinkled his nose in confusion.

"That quote. Mahatma Gandhi said it," I said.

Johnny shrugged. "I don't know. I just saw it on a bumper sticker. Hey, ain't he that old guy who lived in Indiana?"

"India," I snapped. "Focus, Johnny. This is my time to get back at—hey, Two-Bit!"

Two-Bit stepped into the kitchen. He wasn't grinning. He looked suspicious. "Get back at who? And why were you just yelling at Johnnycake not to quote Mahatma Gandhi at you? Wasn't he that old dude from Indiana?"

"India," I corrected. "And it's none of your business."

"Wait, Ponyboy," Johnny said. "I just got an idea…but we'll need Two-Bit's help."

"With what?" Two-Bit demanded. "With what?"

Johnny motioned to us, and we leaned in. He told us his plan. It was better than mine by a long shot.

"By the way, Pony," Johnny said as we headed out back to start setting up. "What was your idea?"

"Um," I said sheepishly. "I just thought we could drop a bucket of chili on his head."

"Do you really think we should do this?" Johnny asked suddenly. "I mean, is it right?"

We looked at each other. It wasn't right. We shouldn't do it.

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"Hey, guys, where were you gone so long?" Soda asked, turning as we entered the room. "Why are you guys so wet?"

Two-Bit shook his head like a wet dog. Dallas roared in rage as water droplets flew onto him.

"We were outside," Johnny explained, trying at the same time to pacify Dally into not killing Two-Bit.

"Doing what?" Darry demanded. "Trying to catch a cold?"

"No," I mumbled. "We were just…saying hi to Tim. He was walking in the rain."

"Tim Shepard? Why didn't you invite him in?" Soda asked, dealing another hand.

"We did," Johnny said, catching on to my lie. "He, uh, said he had somewhere else to go."

"Where?" Dally asked. "Didn't ask," I said. "He looked like he might have to kill us if he told us."

Lightning flashed. Thunder rolled. The power went out. Darry lit a candle.

"I'll go out and check the fuse box," Two-Bit offered.

"Two-Bit offering to do something?" Steve laughed. "I must be dreaming."

Two-Bit just grinned and left. We sat playing poker by candlelight.

Someone knocked at the door. "It's open!" Darry bellowed.

They knocked again. "It must be Two-Bit," Soda muttered, springing up to open the door.

"Two-Bit knows our door is open," I commented. Soda shrugged. "Maybe he forgot. You know how he is."

Soda came back. "No one there," he said. "Strange."

Johnny's hair practically stood on end as he stared out the curtainless windows. Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Relax, Johnnycake," he drawled. "It was probably Two-Bit."

"Two-Bit wasn't wearing a black hood and carrying a hatchet," Johnny said in a hushed voice.

I glanced at Johnny. He was glancing at me. What was going on? The three of us had agreed not to go through with it.

The candle burned down. "I'll go get another one," I said, running into the kitchen.

Someone knocked on the door again. "Oh, for the love of," Soda muttered, running for the door again. Exactly for the love of what we never found out.

But it didn't matter anyway. We could hear Soda yelling from the front. "Soda!" Darry hollered, running towards him.

We heard his agonized cry too. Neither of them came back.

"What's going on?" Steve screamed.

"I don't know," Dallas said. "But we'd better stick close so it's not us next."

Steve, Johnny, Dallas and I huddled in the center of the room, each of us facing a different corner.

"Stick close," Steve muttered. "Right?"

"Right," I said. "Right," said Johnny. No response from Dallas.

"Right, Dally?" Johnny said, turning. We all turned. No Dally.

"Where did he go?" I yelped. I whirled all around, screaming wildly. "Soda? Darry? Dally? Two-Bit?"

No answer from any of them. "Johnny!" I screamed. "This is your entire fault. You and your stupid plan!"

"Guys," said Steve

"But we weren't going to do it!" Johnny yelled back. "It was never supposed to happen!"

"Guys," Steve said.

"But it did!" I shouted. "And now they're all gone, maybe even dead, and it's all your fault!"

"Guys!" Steve said. We whirled around, saying simultaneously, "What?"

It was a guy carrying a hatchet and wearing a black hood. Steve gasped.

"Steve," he hissed.

"Stay back!" Steve commanded us. "Guys?" he turned. No one.

"I'm alone," he realized aloud. "I'm alone." He turned, filled with trepidation, to the killer.

It swung. Steve fell to the floor. He rolled backwards and fell into the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind him.

Someone tapped his shoulder. He turned. He screamed and ducked as the hatchet swung towards him again.

Everywhere he went, the killers were after him. Finally, he was cornered as all four of them surrounded him.

The power came back on. Steve was huddled under the table, whimpering slightly.

The killers pulled off their hoods, laughing. Steve gasped in outrage.

"I realize I should have seen this coming," he said. "And I can see why Ponyboy did it. I make his life miserable. But Two-Bit?"

"You kicked me out while Mickey was on!"

"My dad kicked us out."

"So?"

"Dally? You too?"

"I was helping out Johnny," Dally said with a shrug.

"Johnny, of all people?"

"I was helping out Ponyboy," Johnny said with a shrug.

"Where're Soda and Darry?"

The two brothers came in, looking quite pleased with themselves. "We fixed the fuse box!" Soda said proudly.

"But where'd you run off to, Two-Bit? Hmmm?" Darry accused.

"This," Steve said simply. "Is so messed up."

Ponyboy shrugged. "Well, I got that over and done with."

"Got what over and done with?"

"I made a New Year's resolution," Ponyboy explained. "Get back at Steve and scare him too."


	8. Chicken

**Chicken**

It started out as a typical long, lazy Sunday afternoon, but what followed would leave me scarred for life…literally.

I was sitting on our front steps with Curly Shepard. He's a fun guy, but not so bright, if you know what I mean.

We were bored out of our minds. There was nothing to do except sit and smoke. I especially liked the second one. I started smoking last year, and I've been hooked ever since. Darry doesn't because he's careful about staying athletic, and Soda only does it when he wants to look tough, which isn't as often as you might think.

We were just talking aimlessly about cars, fights, cigarettes, and blades, which is ninety-nine percent of what Curly thinks about.

Then, out of nowhere, Curly considers his cigarette and says, "Chicken?"

At first I have no idea what he's talking about. "Huh?" I say, oh so intelligently.

"Chicken," he repeats, looking at me. "With our cigarettes?"

"Oh," I say, realization dawning on me. I shrug. Why not? We've got nothing better to do. "Okay."

So we sit facing each other and Curly says, "Ready, set, go!"

We press our cigarettes against the other's index finger at the same time. My first reaction is to scream, but I bite my tongue to keep myself from doing so.

The smell of burning flesh is sickening us and sweat is rolling down our faces, teeth gritted with the effort of not yelling.

To tell the truth, I was about ready to give it up, call it quits, when Curly's lean, mean older brother Tim strolls by.

"Hey," he says, adding a few words I can't say, which I guess is his way of showing amiability. His cursing died down and was replaced with even louder, worse swearing when he saw what we were doing.

In one swift move, he grabbed us each by the back of our necks and cracked our heads together. We dropped our cigarettes and clutched out heads, still not crying out.

"What were you thinking?" Tim shouted, and I'm cleaning up the language. I've long ago come to the conclusion that Tim can't say more than a sentence without swearing at least twice.

I have the sense to keep my mouth shut, but Curly, who, like I said, isn't exactly Einstein, started babbling on about who knows what.

Tim waited patiently for about five seconds, and then silenced him with a flat-handed blow to the back of his head.

"The next time I see either of you doing any such thing," he said dangerously, "I'll beat you to death."

I didn't bother to tell him that he'd have to dig me up first, because when Darry saw the burn on my finger he was going to kill me.

And he nearly did, when I got home.

"Glory, Ponyboy," he groaned, cleaning it up and putting a band-aid on it. "Don't you ever use your head?"

I guess not. I didn't take it too hard; Darry's telling me that all the time. This time, though, I promised myself that I really was going to use my head next time. I was going to reform. I would use my head.

Bet you can't guess how long _that_ lasted.

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Any suggestions as to what I should do next?


	9. Friday the 13th

**Friday the 13th **

"Ponyboy, wake up," Soda said, nudging his younger brother. "No," Ponyboy said stubbornly.

"Ponyboy, Sodapop, it's time for school," Mrs. Curtis said, poking her head into their bedroom.

"I'm not going!" Ponyboy said stubbornly, burrowing under the covers. "I refuse."

"But Ponyboy," Mrs. Curtis said. "It's time for school. Come on," she said, pulling the covers off his head.

"But Mom," Ponyboy whined. "It's Friday the 13th!"

Soda's eyes widened. "Really?" he asked. Ponyboy nodded. Soda considered this, and then dove under the covers right along with Ponyboy.

"Boys," Mrs. Curtis said firmly, "Don't make me have to drag you out of bed."

No response.

"You can have cake for breakfast," she tried.

Still nothing.

Finally she turned to her last and deadliest resort. "Don't make me have to call your father."

Thirty seconds later, the two brothers were ready for school.

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Johnny stared at his best friend. "Wow, Ponyboy," he said. "I had no idea you were so superstitious."

"I'm not," Ponyboy said defensively. "I'm…careful."

"Right," cut in Two-Bit. "That's why you have that dumb horseshoe hanging around your neck and fifty four leaf clovers."

"Want one?" Ponyboy offered Two-Bit.

Two-Bit stared at Ponyboy. "Do I look crazy to you? I'm not a superstitious nut!"

Dallas rolled his eyes. "He's only saying that because he's allergic."

Two-Bit glowered at Dallas while Ponyboy and Johnny guffawed behind their hands. "Four leaf clovers? Who's allergic to good luck charms?" Ponyboy laughed. "Man, Two-Bit, you are one unlucky guy."

Two-Bit, for once, didn't make a silly joke. Instead, he just looked at Ponyboy while a very strange smile spread across his face. It gave Ponyboy chills up his spine just to look at Two-Bit.

"Not for long," he said mysteriously, the smile still on his face. "Not for long."

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Ponyboy got strange looks for the rest of the day, but he didn't care, just as long as Friday the 13th didn't bring him bad luck.

That afternoon, though, was when everything started, strangely enough when Ponyboy took off his horseshoe.

Mrs. Curtis was checking a hand mirror to fix the back of her hairstyle, when it slipped from her hand, shattering on the floor. Ponyboy sat transfixed, staring at the pieces on the floor.

"Oh, dear," she sighed. "I'll just have to clean that up."

"Mom!" Ponyboy screamed. "That's seven years bad luck!"

"Ponyboy, relax," she reassured him. "Nothing's going to happen."

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Ponyboy stared out the window. Steve was coming up the street. He nearly tripped over a stray cat and kicked it, cursing.

It hissed at him and disappeared into the shadows. It was a midnight black tomcat.

Ponyboy considered yelling at Steve about bad luck, too, but decided against it. He wasn't in the mood to be kicked and sworn at.

_Why am I the only one concerned about bad luck?_ Ponyboy thought to himself. _What's up with that?_

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Later that night, when the sun was just setting, six hooded boys gathered at the vacant lot.

One lit a fire and the others hummed impatiently. They couldn't whistle because it would attract too much attention.

"Like that fire won't?" Dallas snapped. Darry glared up at Dallas from his spot on the ground, his face covered with ash.

"Guys," Soda said tensely. "Quit stalling. There ain't much time left."

"Isn't, Soda. There isn't much time left," Darry corrected automatically.

"Right, like I said. There ain't much time left."

"I still don't see why Pony couldn't come," Johnny said nervously.

"Because," Steve said impatiently. "This'll just be his first time. This year's just his eleventh Friday the 13th. But it's yours and Soda's thirteenth, Johnnycake."

"Yeah," Two-Bit cut in. "We've all done this. In two years we'll do it for Ponyboy too."

Johnny and Soda glanced at each other. According to the rest, this was some old tradition Darry found in a book about a boy's thirteenth Friday the thirteenth. They weren't sure what was going to happen.

All the rest of the gang except Ponyboy had been through it. Darry refused to say anything about it, and forbid them from breathing a word about it to Ponyboy. Dallas said it was torture. Two-Bit made some dumb crack about drinking thirteen bottles of beer, and Steve just clapped Soda on the back and said sympathetically, "I feel for you, man."

The sun was almost set. Darry threw back his hood and announced, "Let the ritual begin!"

And it did…

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"Mom, Dad, I'm going to watch the sunset," Ponyboy called to his parents.

"Sure you don't need a four-leaf clover?" Mr. Curtis yelled back jokingly. Ponyboy declined from answering, but slammed the door on his way out.

He heard his brother's voice coming from the vacant lot as he walked by there. He stopped abruptly at the sound of it. Wait a minute. Hadn't they said they were going to a friend's?

Ponyboy turned and stared at the scene before him. He stared, paralyzed in fear for a moment at the loud, raucous, barbaric scene before him.

Johnny turned and saw Ponyboy standing there transfixed. He grabbed Dallas, who turned and the look of glee on his face quickly turned to rage. "Get him!" he yelled.

Six greasers turned simultaneously on Ponyboy, whose legs seemed to have turned to lead. Finally they seemed to register his brain's message: RUN YOU IDIOT!

And he did, like the wind. He could hear six boys turned wild monsters behind him, howling with the wind and whooping like warriors.

Ponyboy thanked his lucky (although could he really call them that in this situation?) stars that he was the fastest runner of them all.

He ran home as fast as he could, ignored his parents and tore up to his room, hollering at the top of his lungs.

He didn't stop until he was safe under his bedcovers…locked in the linen closet where he was sure they wouldn't find him.

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Mr. Curtis exchanged glances with Mrs. Curtis. "What was all that about?' she asked.

Mr. Curtis shrugged. "My guess is, he walked by the vacant lot and saw the boys."

Mrs. Curtis raised her eyebrows. "They still do that?" she exclaimed.

"Sure," Mr. Curtis said. "This year's Soda's and Johnny's thirteenth."

Mrs. Curtis sighed. "So juvenile," she said, shaking her head sadly.

"Let them alone," Mr. Curtis said. "They're not doing anything wrong. It's just for fun."

Mrs. Curtis rolled her eyes when her husband wasn't looking.

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"Where do you think he went?" Soda asked Darry. They had looked all over the house but couldn't find him anywhere.

"I don't know, but he shouldn't have seen that," Darry said. "We've got to set him straight."

They walked right by the linen closet as they spoke.

"It's a shame we didn't catch him," Soda sighed. "I wish I could have just…"

"Soda," Darry said sharply. "He's not supposed to know. He'll find out soon enough about Friday the thirteenth. After all," he added with a wicked grin. "We're just having _fun."_

In the linen closet, Ponyboy broke out in a cold sweat. His brain buzzed, and he didn't hear the last words spoken by Soda:

"Yeah, but he would've loved it. Who knew that there's some medieval superstition that dancing around a fire gives you _good_ luck for the next seven years?"

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So lame, I know. Bur happy Friday the thirteenth anyway, and if you'll excuse me, I've got to break a few mirrors myself.


	10. Mickey Mouse

**Mickey Mouse**

"Where're we going, Soda?" Ponyboy asked. He and his brother had been walking for over half an hour.

"I _told_ you, Pony," Soda said impatiently. "It's a surprise."

Ponyboy gave up trying to get it out of Soda. They walked for about ten more minutes and then they turned the corner.

"Lucky Star Rodeo?" Ponyboy read off the sign.

"Yep," Soda said. "Here we are!"

A bemused Ponyboy followed Sodapop inside. A man turned as the door creaked open and looked immensely relieved. "Sodapop!" he exclaimed. "Boy am I glad you're here. Mickey Mouse's been more ornery than usual!"

"Where is he?" Soda asked eagerly. The man jerked a thumb back. "He's out back. Austin's _trying_ to get control of him. Say, who's your friend?"

"This is Ponyboy, my brother," Soda said, clapping a hand on Ponyboy's shoulder. "Well, hello there," the man said. "Just call me Bill."

Ponyboy managed a smile. He hated that he was so shy, but he couldn't help it.

He followed Soda out back. "Hey, Austin!" Soda yelled to a guy attempting to get a hold of a beautiful horse that was kicking and bucking like crazy.

"Hey, Soda!" Austin shouted back. "Man, am I glad to see you! Think you can handle him?"

"Yeah," Soda said, running over. Ponyboy hung back and watched, fascinated. Soda waited until the horse stopped kicking, pulled a carrot from his pocket and offered it to the horse.

Ponyboy approached cautiously. "This is Mickey Mouse, Ponyboy," Soda said proudly as Mickey Mouse finished the carrot and began nibbling at Soda's collar.

Ponyboy believed him. If Soda said Mickey Mouse was his horse, Mickey Mouse was his horse. He certainly seemed to have a handle on him. _We probably can't bring him home because there's no room,_ Ponyboy reasoned.

They were there all afternoon. Soda even let Ponyboy ride Mickey Mouse, but carefully, because both of them were aware that Mickey Mouse was liable to start bucking again at any time.

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Soda came home one night red-eyed. "Soda? What happened to you?" Mrs. Curtis asked. "Nothing," Soda mumbled. He traipsed to his room and slammed the door shut.

Ponyboy ventured in cautiously when it was time for them to go to sleep. He closed the door carefully before saying softly, "Soda?"

He heard sniffling. Ponyboy realized, shocked, that Soda was crying. "Soda, what happened?" he exclaimed, hurrying over.

Soda broke out bawling, his pain evident. "T-they sold Mickey Mouse!" he sobbed. Ponyboy reached over instinctively to hug Soda.

Through his sympathy coursed anger. How dare someone hurt his older brother? For once, Ponyboy felt protective towards Soda instead of the other way around.

He vowed to save up all his money until he was able to buy back Mickey Mouse. Soda deserved his horse back.

You're not so smart at ten.

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	11. The Omen

Disclaimer: Don't own Outsiders or the Omen.

Don't read this if you didn't like the Omen or were too scared to watch it.

**The Omen**

Ponyboy sat by a few of his friends in the cafeteria. _I can't wait till I get to high school,_ he thought wistfully. _At least Johnny and Two-Bit are there, instead of these weirdos._ He forced a laugh as Kyle immaturely blew his straw wrapper at a passing girl.

"You're done for, greaser!" Two-Bit barked in Ponyboy's ear. Ponyboy jumped and twisted in his seat, ready to take on a Soc, but his tough expression relaxed into a smile when he saw the laughing older greaser.

"Two-Bit," he said, relieved. "What're you doing here?"

"Cutting school, of course," Two-Bit said breezily, pulling out a chair and sitting down, putting his big feet up.

"Hey, you're sneaker's in my ketchup!" Kyle whined.

"Get over it," Two-Bit shot back. "Beat it, runt. I gotta talk to the horse man," he clapped Ponyboy amiably on the back.

When Kyle had stomped away, Two-Bit leaned forward in his chair to whisper conspiratorially to Ponyboy: "Do you know what day it is?"

"Uh…Friday?" Ponyboy said slowly.

"Yes, but what date?" Two-Bit pressed.

"June sixth," Ponyboy said, a bit surprised. "Two-Bit, what's the big deal?"

"It's June sixth…1966," Two-Bit whispered.

"Yeah…" Ponyboy said blankly. "So it's 6-6-6-6. Big deal."

"It is a big deal!" Two-Bit barked, the sudden jump in decibels making Ponyboy jump for the second time that day.

"Two-Bit," he said irritably. "I don't see your point."

"My _point,"_ the sideburned greaser said impatiently, "is that I have a message for you. Listen closely, this is very important. You have to be at the vacant lot tonight. At six. EXACTLY six, do you hear me?"

"Why? Yes, I hear you," Ponyboy assured Two-Bit hastily before he could open his mouth, "but why?"

"You'll see," Two-Bit said mysteriously. Before Ponyboy could say another word, he disappeared.

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Against his better judgment, Ponyboy found himself walking down to the vacant lot at 5:58.

_This is probably just a repeat of the Friday the Thirteenth thing,_ he thought gloomily. _Dancing around a fire and making fools out of themselves._

He turned the corner into the vacant lot at exactly six. There was nobody there. "Hello?" he said tentatively.

"Pony?" Johnny said from behind him.

Ponyboy turned, relieved to see his friend. "Hey, Johnny," he greeted. "Seen Two-Bit or anybody else?"

"Nope," he said, but he had spoken too soon. No sooner than the words were out of his mouth, Two-Bit strolled by.

"Oh, good. You two are here," he said cheerfully. "C'mon, let's go."

Johnny's jaw dropped. Ponyboy stifled a laugh. "Two-Bit," Johnny managed. "What are you wearing?"

What Two-Bit was wearing was a heavy crucifix medallion that was so big his head was bent forward with the weight of it around his neck. He carried a wafer in his mouth, two more in his left hand and holy water in his right.

"We're going to see Damien," he said, completely solemnly through his teeth, inserting a wafer each into Ponyboy's and Johnny's mouths.

"Who?" Ponyboy demanded, spitting out his wafer. "Two-Bit, you're acting very weird. Is this one big elaborate prank?"

"The devil child," Two-Bit said solemnly, dipping into his leather jacket pocket and draping a crucifix each around the other two's necks.

Johnny's wafer shot out of his mouth and hit Two-Bit in the shoulder as he burst into laughter. Ponyboy was leaning on his for support as he, too, howled with laughter.

"Why is it that you never laugh at my real jokes?" Two-Bit said quietly. "I'm serious. It's 6-6-66. Damien is back. He's the devil child," he repeated.

"Isn't that a movie?" Johnny cackled. "_The Omen_ or whatever?"

"Listen," Two-Bit said, and something in his voice made Ponyboy and Johnny calm down long enough to do so.

"In 1906, on June 6th, my granddad was our age, about. Maybe younger. Anyway, he met this kid, Damien. Said he was a real weird kid, short black hair, real pale."

"A lot of kids look like that," Ponyboy pointed out.

"Not Damien. Granddad said that his eyes, in the center where they're supposed at be black, were like the fires of hell, and he had a birthmark on the back of his neck."

"Two-Bit, I have my birthmark on the back of my neck," Johnny said. "Does that make me a demon kid?"

"Yours isn't in the shape of 3 sixes. You know, 666. The sign of the devil. Is it?" he added as an afterthought, gripping Johnny's shoulder and yanking down the back of his collar to see.

"Quit!" Johnny complained, twisting out of Two-Bit's grip before either he or Ponyboy could catch a glimpse of the mark.

"Anyway, this kid Damien. I saw him on the street this morning. He only ever comes out on a day with 3 sixes in a row, like that day Granddad saw him…or today. He looks like he's ten, just a normal kid. I banged into him, asked him his name while I stole his pocket change. Said it was Damien. When he turned to walk away, he had real short hair, so I could see the back of his neck. 3 sixes! I remembered what Granddad was saying, so I tailed him at a distance to his house. Sixth street, house number 666. Anyway, just as he's going inside, he turns…and he _waves _to me."

"He heard you, dummy, you walk like a dozen elephants!" Ponyboy laughed.

"I was trailing him at least a hundred yards back! I was hiding in a bush when he turned and waved at me!"

"Two-Bit, you're being stupid. You were probably drunk as a skunk," Ponyboy scoffed. "And how come we're the only ones here? Where's everybody else?"

"Working. Or, in Dally's case, sleeping one off. C'mon, I gotta go do what my Granddad couldn't."

"Oh really? What's that?" Ponyboy demanded.

"We gotta go kill us a devil," Two-Bit said, holding up the holy water.

Johnny said nothing, but what he didn't say was more than made up for by Ponyboy.

"Two-Bit, you're outta your mind! You're drunk! You're insane! I refuse to do this!"

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"I can't believe I'm doing this!" he groused ten minutes later.

Two-Bit ignored him and rapped smartly on the door of house number 666. It was rundown, not uncommon in greaser territory, but still pathetic even for an area like this. A boy of about age ten answered. He had pale skin, dark hair and eyes. Damien. Two-Bit was right. The pupils of his eyes did glow red.

_Must be a trick of the light,_ Ponyboy thought. The setting sun was a red fireball in the sky. It was just reflected in the kid's eyes. That had to be it. It had to be.

Two-Bit was very direct. No monkey business, no questions asked. He just threw the holy water all over Damien.

Damien shook his head, outraged. "What was that, you dumb greaser?" he roared indignantly. "Hey, you're the same idiot that took my change this morning and then followed me home!"

"Yeah, cause you're the devil!" Two-Bit accused fervently. "Why aren't you melting? That's holy water! I got it special from the church! I didn't even steal it!"

"I'm the what?" Damien repeated, furious. "There's no such thing, stupid!"

"How else would you know I took your change and followed you home?"

"You're the only person to bump into me today. And you walk like a dozen elephants."

Behind Two-Bit, Ponyboy hid a guffaw behind his hand.

"B-B-But…Granddad! And your birthmark on the back of your neck! 3 sixes!" Two-Bit sputtered.

Damien sighed and turned, exposing the back of his pale neck.

"Two-Bit, you idiot!" Ponyboy groaned. "That's not a birthmark, you twit, it's a sunburn! And it doesn't look remotely like even 1 six!"

"Great," Two-Bit groaned. "Next you'll be telling me your name isn't even Damien."

"It's not," Not-Damien said. "It's David."

"Are you wasted or something?" Ponyboy demanded.

"I think he was this morning," David commented. "He smelled like my dad does sometimes after a late shift. And he talked like him too, kind of slurry."

"Let's go home. Sorry about him," Ponyboy apologized to the still dripping David. "He gets like that when he's wasted."

"Whatever," David said. "But don't bother me again, okay? Freaks," they heard him mutter as he closed the door.

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"I could've sworn—!" Two-Bit said for the millionth time on the way home. "Granddad said!"

"Two-Bit," Ponyboy said. "Just let it go. I just want to forget this day ever happened."

"But—"

"TWO-BIT!" Ponyboy finally exploded. "Let it go! There is no devil demon kid! Okay?"

"You're wrong."

Ponyboy and Two-Bit spun around simultaneously. Johnny hadn't spoken a single word all evening, and now his voice didn't sound like his own. It was deeper, harsher, and the Oklahoman twang was gone.

"It's not David." Johnny had his back to them. He turned slowly. "It's me."

His eyes burned like the street lamps that illuminated Tulsa in the dark. This time, Ponyboy knew, it couldn't be a trick of the light.

"Your birthmark?" Two-Bit said hoarsely from beside a speechless Pony.

Johnny smiled complacently and turned, tugging down the back of his collar and pushing up his long hair to expose the back of his tanned neck.

There, plain as day, three sixes. The mark of the devil.

Johnny turned back around, but he wasn't Johnny anymore. Ponyboy felt himself begin to shake with fear. Two-Bit's jaw dropped to yell, but not for long. His yell turned to a terrible, echoing scream as the thing in Johnny's body reached out a clawed hand and sucked Two-Bit's soul right out of his chest.

Two-Bit crumpled beside Ponyboy, who was too terrified to make a motion to help him. In any case, he knew, his friend was beyond help.

Johnny swallowed it whole. "Pure-hearted," he commented. "Tough exterior, sense of humor. I like that."

_Two-Bit was right!_ He thought in horror, paralyzed with fear.

Johnny now grinned at him. "Your turn," he rasped, reaching out a clawed hand.

Ponyboy's eyes bugged out as the devil tugged at his soul. "Nooooo!" he wailed, a cry that was reduced to nothing as everything that he was, his soul, was sucked right out of him.

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"PONYBOY!"

Ponyboy jerked awake. "Eh?"

Kyle was staring at him. "You feeling all right? Lunch is over. You fell asleep."

"Oh," Ponyboy said. He glanced around at the empty lunchroom. "I did, didn't I."

"Yes, you did. You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I just had a weird dream. Nothing too bad, just…weird."

"Whatever, man. Dream speculating is something chicks do," he said, exiting the cafeteria. The bell rang. "Damn, we're late."

As he hurried out, Two-Bit ambled in. "Hey, Ponyboy. Ditching class?"

"No, but you are."

"Yeah. we gotta go now. We're ditching school." He dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. "Ponyboy, do you know what day it is?"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

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Stupid ending to a stupid story. I'm leaving now to go watch Omen in the theaters…which I where I got the dumb idea from. Tell me if you hated it.


	12. When Soda Met Sandy

**When Soda Met Sandy**

Ponyboy giggled happily as his older brother Sodapop piggybacked him down their street to their house. Steve glared at them. "Aren't you a little too old for that crap?" he demanded.

"No," Soda said. "Why, Steve, you jealous?" Without warning, he let Ponyboy off his back and, in a flash, hoisted Steve up and started running. Ponyboy could hear Steve yelling and cursing down the street.

"Soda! You crazy son-of-a-gun! Let me down! Sodapop Curtis!"

Ponyboy tore after them down the street. He crashed into Soda and Steve just outside their house and the three of them tumbled into the front yard, Soda yowling as Steve landed on top of him.

Ponyboy scrambled for the door, but Soda tackled him first. "I'm gonna get you!" he roared, proceeding to tickle Ponyboy's ribs until he sobbed.

The screen door swung open with a screech. "Boys," Mrs. Curtis said gently, but the three of them ignored her. "Boys," she repeated, to no avail.

"_BOYS!"_

The three of them immediately stopped scuffling and stood to attention.

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Curtis told her husband as he disappeared back into the house. "We have guests, boys."

Soda and Ponyboy sheepishly followed their mother inside while Steve loped home.

"Where's Darry?" Mrs. Curtis inquired.

"Football practice," Soda announced proudly. "He made the team! He said he's the only freshman in high school who ever did that!"

"Well, that's wonderful," Mrs. Curtis said delightedly. "He'll just have to meet our new neighbors later. Boys, this is Mrs. Anderson and her daughter Sandy."

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"Hey, Pony," Soda whispered in Ponyboy's ear.

"Wha—?" Ponyboy mumbled, rolling over sleepily. He saw Soda's handsome face peering at him in the dark. "Soda, what's going on?"

"I'm going over to see Sandy."

"What?" Ponyboy sat up, now fully awake. "Soda, that's crazy. It must be at least midnight!"

"I know, but I can't stop thinking about her. Gosh, she's pretty, with her hair and her eyes…gosh, Pony, what would you call that blue? Sky blue?"

"Cornflower," Ponyboy suggested, confused. Darry had a girlfriend, but he was never as romantic as Soda was.

"Cornflower," Soda was sighing. "That's the word. Pony, you sure have a way with words. I have to go over there to see her."

"Can't it wait until morning?" Ponyboy whispered.

"No!"

"Why not?"

"I have to go tell her that her eyes are cornflower blue," Soda said, winking. He pulled up the window latch and Ponyboy noticed that he was already fully dressed, sneakers and all. He watched as Soda clambered out the window and heard him grunt as he landed on the ground with a thump. Ponyboy held his breath, praying that their parents hadn't heard. He glanced down; Soda wasn't hurt, but he, too was crouching, unmoving, apparently also waiting to see if their parents had heard him.

When all remained calm, Soda darted across the street and let himself into the neighbors' house, which was, miraculously, unlocked.

Ponyboy watched the house across the street for a long time, sure that Soda would get caught or Sandy would scream upon finding him in her room. Eventually, though, he succumbed to sleep.

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When Ponyboy woke up the next morning, Sodapop was snoring beside him. Ponyboy gently shook his brother awake and asked him how things had gone last night.

Soda sighed happily, a smile playing on his lips. "That Sandy," he said, closing his eyes dreamily. "I think she really likes me. And another thing. I think I love her."

"Love her? But you just met her," Ponyboy said incredulously.

"Doesn't matter. When you know, you know. And I know I'm gonna love Sandy forever…"

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Review, please?


	13. Soda's New Job

**Soda's New Job **

"Ponyboy," Sodapop announced, "I'm gonna get me a job." He stood there proudly, his hands on his hips. Ponyboy got the impression that he was waiting for applause.

"Where?" Ponyboy asked, sticking his thumb in his mouth and then promptly taking it out. He didn't want his brother to think he was a baby.

"I don't know," Soda said. "I asked at the diner and the movie place already, but they said I'm too little. All the waitresses said I was cute though," he added brightly. "They gave me a free soda, 'cause I'm Soda."

"Tuff!" yelled Ponyboy. "Would they give me a free pony 'cause I'm Pony?"

Soda shrugged. "I don't know. You're _really_ too little for a job, so maybe they'll feel sorry and think you're cute too. Hey," he said suddenly. "D'you wanna come with me to the gas station tomorrow? I'm going to ask for a job there too."

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"Sorry, son," the DX manager said. "We don't accept employees until they're at least fifteen years of age."

"Aw," Soda said, the corners of his mouth turning down slightly. "That's what they said everywhere. Okay, see you in four years."

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Ponyboy was shuffling his feet outside, waiting for Soda to come out. He could see Soda through the window. He didn't look too happy.

_Maybe the guy's telling Soda he has to work really hard at his new job and maybe that's why he's mad,_ Ponyboy thought hopefully.

A red Corvair pulled up, spraying dust in the hot, dry Tulsa summer. Ponyboy's jaw dropped. "Wow," he exclaimed. "Tuff car!"

The girl driving smiled. Ponyboy didn't think he had ever seen such straight, white teeth. Her lipstick matched her car. "You're a cutie," she said. "Is there anybody working here, do you know?"

Ponyboy shrugged. "If you wait a couple of minutes, maybe my brother Soda can help you. He's applying for a job right now."

"Soda? That's a cute nickname. Is that him in there?" the girl pointed to the window.

Ponyboy opened his mouth to tell her Soda wasn't a nickname but then shut it, deciding against it, and just nodded.

The girl regarded Soda for a moment, biting her lip. She put her car into park and stepped out of the car, striding towards the building.

Ponyboy stuck his thumb in his mouth contemplatively, but quickly took it out. He didn't want anyone thinking he was a baby.

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"I got the job I got the job I got the job!" Soda screamed, running out of the DX at full speed and tackling Ponyboy to the ground.

"ThemanagersaidIwastooyoungbut—" Soda yelled.

"Soda! Soda!" Ponyboy yelped. "Slow down! And get off!"

Soda clambered off Ponyboy, calming down only just enough to be coherent. "The manager said I was too young but a lady came in and said she and her friends would love to see a fine young man like me working there." He beamed. "She called me a fine young man!"

"Wow," Ponyboy said. "So the manager gave you the job just like that?"

"Yeah," Soda said happily. "Something about attracting more business. So I got the job!" He looked up and waved energetically. Ponyboy looked around and the girl was getting back into her car. She smiled again and blew Soda a kiss before zooming away.

"Wow," Ponyboy said again. "This whole being cute thing works for you real well."

Soda nodded happily. The boys got up and started walking home together. Soda kicked up a cloud of dust. "I just hope it doesn't wear off when I get older."

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Read and review, please. Ha, I don't think it's going to wear off for Soda, do you?


	14. How Dally Really Got His Scar

Chapter 14: How Dally Really Got His Scar

Dally's the toughest, meanest greaser any of us have ever met. He's got lots of tuff scars, and a story to go with each scar.

Like the L-shaped one on his elbow. That one's from the time he was driving in a car with Tim Shepard, and Tim was drinking while he was driving. Soon enough, Tim was too smashed to drive the car straight, and Dally decided he would be better off jumping out of the car than he would be with Tim at the wheel.

Or the long one on his back, from when a Soc jumped him and sliced him with a switchblade. I remember him staggering into our house, his t-shirt stained with blood, and how he made Soda stitch him up rather than take him to the hospital. There was an outstanding warrant on Dally then, and he hadn't wanted the fuzz to catch up with him.

That one's from the year our parents died. Darry had been at work; otherwise he would have made Dally go to the hospital.

The only scar you'll never hear Dally talking about is the one on his forehead. It's a real little one, less than half an inch long. He'll claim he can't remember where he got it, but it's all an act. He just doesn't want to admit how he got it, and everyone who knows how he got it, meaning me, Darry, Soda, Steve, Two-Bit and Johnny, is too afraid of what he'll do to us if the story got out.

He got it when he was eleven. It was the year after he moved to Tulsa from New York, and we were all in awe of the wild, towheaded boy with the mean look in his eyes, even Darry.

Even at that age, he carried a switchblade in his back pocket. Steve and Two-Bit had pocketknives back then, and they could never stop showing them off, but Dally had an actual, for-real switchblade.

And the thing that flabbergasted us all is, he never pulled it out to show it off. If one of us had been allowed to have a real switchblade, we'd never stop pulling it out, flicking it open, polishing it.

We never even realized he had a switchblade until one day, he and Two-Bit were about to get beaten up by some high school Socs with nothing better to do than pick on some poor grade school kids. Two-Bit had been ready to run, but Dally just pulled out his switchblade and, without saying a word, flicked it open and just held it ready. The Socs, unarmed, had backed off.

But this story isn't about how tough and mean Dally is. No, quite the opposite. Because he didn't get his only facial scar from a fight, or while he was drunk or high. No, he got it because of something my mother said.

It was Soda's eleventh birthday, and my mother had invited the whole gang over to celebrate. Dally had shown up and was loping around the yard, glaring at everyone and slouching against walls with his hands in his pockets.

I was seven then, and I kept a far distance from Dally. I was fascinated by the way he moved like a caged lion, and also terrified of him.

And then my mother announced that the cake was ready.

Dally's narrowed eyes shot wide open. I've never seen them rounder. He took off running towards my mother, and in his haste to get to the cake, he didn't even realize he was running straight towards a table.

_WHAM!_ He ran headfirst into the table.

Everyone's hearts stopped for a minute, and I heard my mother cry out. But Dally didn't even fall. He blinked as if just realizing the table was in front of him, and then kept running.

He grabbed a slice with his hands and was halfway through eating it when my mother noticed he was bleeding. Dally would have kept eating, but she was a lot stronger than he was, and she dragged a kicking and yelling Dally inside to clean him up.

Dally did eventually get his cake, and I've never seen him smile for so long. That is, until he punched Two-Bit in the stomach for making some wise remark about his bandage.

"If any of you losers brings this up again, I'll kill you!" he yelled.

And we never have.

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Read and review please! Or I'll have to tell Dally you ate his cake…


	15. Dally vs Richard Cade

Chapter 15: Dally Versus Richard Cade

For some reason, Dally didn't find out Johnny's parents beat him for a long time. He came to Tulsa when he was ten, but I don't think he was any the wiser until he was thirteen. Don't ask me why. I guess he was too wild to hang around one place for too long.

Anyway, he was sitting on my porch with Darry and Soda one day, smoking a cigarette because my parents were at work and therefore couldn't stop him.

And then we heard Johnny's dad start up his yelling. It was the middle of the day, so I guess he must have just woken up, and from the epithets he was bellowing at his wife and son, I guess he was hung over.

I hated it when anyone yelled, even if they weren't yelling at me, so I hid just behind the screen door, watching Darry shake his head sadly. "There he goes again."

Soda and Dally didn't have much of a reaction. Yelling and fighting is pretty common around where we live.

Soon we heard him calling someone names, and telling them they were worthless, and a bunch of lousy stuff.

"He yelling at his old lady?" Dally asked nonchalantly.

"He's shouting at Johnny," I said from behind the door. Everyone turned to look at me. Dally froze for a moment, and then carefully took the cigarette out of his mouth, snuffing it deliberately on the porch.

"What makes you say that, Ponyboy?" he said softly. I didn't know that Dally talking softer meant danger, so I kept jabbering on like an idiot.

"Well, he only ever shouts at his wife and Johnny, and his wife always yells back," I reasoned.

Dally was quiet for a moment. Abruptly, he sprang up and began running towards the Cade house.

Darry leapt up and began running after him. "Dally! Stop!"

Soda turned to me with a look of fear in his eyes. "Now look what you did, Pone," he groaned, "Dally's going to get killed by Johnny's dad!"

Soda and I ran after Darry because, as Soda put it, "Dally might need our help, or at least witnesses for his murder investigation."

We arrived at the scene just in time to see Richard Cade smacking his son around the front yard. Johnny was cowering, and although he was covering his face, I could tell he was crying.

Dally stormed up to Johnny's dad and said, "You've got two seconds to cut it the hell out!"

"And just who are the hell are you?" Johnny's father roared, apoplectic. "Get out of my yard, boy! You've got no business being here!"

"Get away from Johnny!" Dally bellowed back just as loudly, paying him no heed.

Johnny's father lost patience. He raised his hand to hit Dally, and Darry stepped forward to tackle Johnny's dad, but he wasn't quick enough.

Dally kicked Richard Cade in the shin. It surprised him enough to give Dally a chance to ram his fist into Richard's stomach, and finish with a mean uppercut when the man doubled over. Dally drew back his fist and hit Johnny's father in the middle of the eyes the hardest, and I guess combined with how much alcohol was in his system, it was enough to knock him out.

Dally caught his breath and said in his normal tone of voice, which was still a bark, "C'mon, Johnny!"

Johnny, who had been watching all of this with his eyes bugged out, followed Dally wordlessly back to my porch. Darry, Soda and I followed him, and when we made it back to the house…well, if we had been surprised to see Dally beat up Johnny's dad, we were astonished to see him carefully dabbing iodine on Johnny's cuts.

Of course, none of this stopped Johnny's father from beating up on Johnny, him being too much of a drunk to remember even that lesson, but it did cement Johnny and Dally's friendship. I always considered Johnny my best friend, but there was something deeper between Johnny and Dally that I always knew existed, but could never put words to until years later, when Johnny told me with shining eyes that Dally was as gallant as any of the gentlemen in _Gone With the Wind_.


	16. The Board Game

Chapter 16: The Board Game

Another dark and rainy night. The boys were absorbed in an intense game. None of them were joking around very much. There was money at stake.

Steve threw down his money. The pink and green slips fluttered everywhere. "I'm sick of Monopoly!"

"Well, gosh Steve, we could play—" Soda began, trying to placate his irate friend.

"No!" Steve barked. "No Sorry, no Snakes and Ladders, no Monopoly, no Candyland! I'm so bored of all these games!"

"I have to agree with Steve-o," Two-Bit added, laying his money down. "I guess that's why they call them _bored_ games, huh?"

Soda chucked the boot piece at Two-Bit. "Fine then!" he snapped. "Let's go do something else!"

Silence fell as they tried to figure out what to do. The only sound was a rhythmic clanking in the background. The furnace was broken, and with winter coming, Mr. Curtis had decided it was worth the money to get it fixed.

"We could check out the basement," Two-Bit suggested.

Johnny and Ponyboy exchanged looks. Neither of them liked the sound of that very much, but they weren't about to say so.

"Yippee!" Steve shouted, jumping up. "Finally, something exciting to do!"

They had to go outside to get to the cellar door. Holding their shirts over their heads like tents, they darted outside. Soda wrenched open the door and ushered them in, slamming the door heavily after he climbed in.

He shook his long hair like a dog, water droplets flying everywhere. Steve yelped as the water landed on him. He shook his hair in turn, but it didn't quite have the same effect. Even at age nine he used a lot of grease in his hair, and the water had simply rolled off the top of his head.

Johnny found a box of matches and lit one after the other until he found an old-fashioned lamp. The cellar was soon filled with dim light.

"Oh boy, look!" Two-Bit exclaimed, pointing at the far corner of the cellar.

Steve was so infuriated he almost squeaked. _"More_ board games?" he roared. "Forget about it! Soda, this was a stupid idea!"

Ponyboy, meanwhile, had approached the games. He tugged a couple of boxes aside and coughed as dust went up his nose.

"Hey, Steve," he called. "There's more stuff back here."

Soda approached and peeked over Ponyboy's shoulder. "Tuff!" he yelled, pulling out a black mask and a dusty brown cowboy hat. "We can play Zorro! Or the Lone Ranger!"

A further search revealed more old-fashioned clothing. A Victorian-looking dress, which no one wanted to touch, a boy's vest and pants, some socks and a miniature pocket watch that looked like it went with the vest.

"Ponyboy should be Zorro first since he found the mask," Soda said firmly, handing Ponyboy the mask. To Ponyboy's relief, Steve didn't argue, although he looked as though he would have liked to.

Excited, Ponyboy placed the hat on his head and raised the mask to his face. "Prepare to be robbed, you scallywags—yikes!" he yelped, dropping the mask suddenly.

"Glory, kid, mask got bugs in it?" Two-Bit asked, peering concernedly at Ponyboy's white face and shaking form.

Ponyboy shook his head, trembling from head to toe. "Wh-when I put it on, i-i-it shows me—" he stammered. He cleared his throat and began again. "When I put it on, I see, like…a video. It shows kids. Kids sitting on the ground playing…"

There was a moment of silence. Then Soda guffawed and slapped Ponyboy on the back. "Good one, Pony," he said. "C'mon, we wanna play bandits, not make-believe—"

Ponyboy shoved the mask at Soda. "Try it," he said. "Try it!" he insisted louder.

"All right, all right," Soda said, throwing his hands up. "I'll try…whoa…" His voice trailed off. The gang watched his mouth drop open. "No!" he yelped, ripping the mask off. "What _is_ this thing?!"

Steve and Two-Bit exchanged a glance. Clearly the Curtis brothers were pulling their legs.

"Take a look," Soda insisted, pressing the mask into Steve's hand. "Really."

A skeptical Steve and Two-Bit each took their turns with the mask, and then Johnny. They all inexplicably saw the same thing. Five children sitting in what looked like the basement they were in, wearing old-fashioned clothing and playing an old board game. Then, the whole picture began shaking, and there was a huge flash of light. Steve said he thought it looked like a boiler exploded or something.

They all edged away from the boiler and the furnace.

"Huh," Two-Bit said. "Do you think this mask shows us the past or something?"

"I guess," Soda said skeptically, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"But why is the mask showing it to us?" Ponyboy said. They all turned to look at him. "You know," Ponyboy continued. "How in books there's always ghosts or something trying to send a message into the past? Trying to make a connection or something?"

"So how do your books say we should connect with these ghosts, eh?" Steve snarled sarcastically. Ponyboy turned red and looked at the ground.

"I think we should dress up like those kids and play the game they were playing," Johnny put in. "Maybe if we get into the scene they'll come and talk to us."

"Isn't everybody forgetting there are no such things as ghosts?" Steve barked as Two-Bit began rummaging for more old outfits.

"There were no such things as haunted masks ten minutes ago, buddy," Two-Bit remarked, tossing an outfit to Steve. "But there you are."

"It's probably an illusion! This is stupid!" Steve groaned, almost in tears. "These clothes make me sneeze!" But no one paid him any heed, and so, grumbling, he pulled the woolen pants, white dress shirt and jacket over his regular clothes.

Soda pulled Parcheesi out of the rummage. "This looked like what they were playing," he said. "Let's get to it."

Fidgeting because of the scratchiness of their clothing, the boys sat down and began to play the old game by the dim light of the single light bulb on the ceiling.

"This. Is. Stupid," Steve said through gritted teeth. Two-Bit slapped him upside the head. "Shut up, stupid," he said. Steve pummeled him, and they would have broken out into an all-out fistfight if the rumbling hadn't begun.

The ground began to shake. "The ghosts!" Soda screamed.

The whole basement seemed to be rattling. The pieces jumped off the board and skittered across the floor, and Ponyboy could feel his teeth chattering.

They all screamed at the flash of light, followed by the shattering of glass as the light bulb exploded, leaving them in darkness.

"W-w-what happened in the mask after the light?" Ponyboy yelled over the din.

"Nothing!" Soda said. "I thought there was an explosion and that's how all those kids died!"

The earthquake in the basement continued for what seemed like forever. As soon as it ended, the boys tore out of the cellar and into the Curtis house.

"Mommy!" Ponyboy screamed. His mother emerged from underneath the kitchen table and held the trembling boy.

"We were worried sick about you boys! Where were you?"

"The basement," Soda said.

"Best place for an earthquake," Mr. Curtis agreed. "We'd have gone down there but we didn't have time. Unexpected. I can't remember the last time Tulsa had anything close to an earthquake. What is this, California?"

Mrs. Curtis had by now noticed their clothing. "What were you boys doing down there? What are those things?"

"We found them in the basement," Two-Bit explained. Mrs. Curtis raised an eyebrow. "They're not ours. They must have belonged to the previous people. Take them off right now! They're probably full of things."

She was right. Things with wings, as it turned out when Johnny took off his coat and yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Baths for all of you," Mrs. Curtis said firmly, ushering them upstairs.

The boys let Johnny have a bath first. While they were waiting, Two-Bit leaned in and whispered, "We can't ever look at or talk about that mask ever again."

"Why not?" Ponyboy said.

"Too dangerous," Two-Bit said briefly.

"Aw, c'mon, that mask didn't cause the quake!" Soda exclaimed.

"Maybe not," Two-Bit said. "But weren't any of you goons paying attention? Do I gotta do everything around here?"

He sighed exasperatedly. "Don't you get it? That mask wasn't showing us ghosts or the past. It was showing us _the future."_

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	17. The Carnival Comes to Town

Disclaimer: _The Outsiders_ belongs to S.E. Hinton (duh) and the plot is from Ray Bradbury's _The Black Ferris_.

Chapter 17: The Carnival Comes to Town

I'll never forget the year the carnival came to Tulsa. Darry, Soda, mom, dad and I all went the second day it was in town. The merry-go-round, the cotton candy, the stand games that Darry and dad always win. I had so much fun, I made myself half-sick. The only bad part was that the Ferris wheel was busted and closed for repairs, but we made up for it by going on the merry-go-round twice.

That night, though, Soda shook me awake at two a.m. "Huh?" I mumbled sleepily. "What's going on?"

"There's something weird about the carnival," Soda said. "Look."

I raised my head groggily. When I saw it, my eyes clacked open. We could just see the top of the Ferris wheel from our house, and it was lit up and running. "Hey, they've got the Ferris wheel working again!" I cheered. "Do you think we can go again tomorrow?"

"It was running again last night, too," Soda said. "And it's working fine now. So why wasn't it working today when everyone was there? Something's fishy."

I glanced nervously at Soda. "What were you thinking?" I asked.

Soda was already out of bed and changing. He threw my jeans to me and said, "Get dressed. We're going to go check it out."

I groaned and flopped back on my pillow. "Why, Soda?" I whined. "Can't we just go back to sleep?"

Soda answered by throwing my sweater at my head. "C'mon. It ain't raining."

Sighing heavily, I put on my sweater and followed Soda as we carefully crawled out the window of our one-story house.

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I was miserably cold as we jogged down to the carnival grounds. I mentally cursed Soda for getting me into this.

Soda motioned for me to be quiet as we approached the grounds. We jumped the flimsy fence noiselessly and Soda pointed at the Ferris wheel. It was still turning, and there was one rider on it, a middle-aged man with a hard, mean face.

I was about to ask Soda if we could leave, when I noticed something. By the way Soda's breath caught, I could tell he saw it too.

The Ferris wheel was turning backwards. And as it did so, the man was getting younger. His face became less lined and rounder, though no less mean, and as the wheel turned, he became younger and younger until there was a kid no older than me sitting on the wheel.

A man we hadn't noticed before pulled a lever at the bottom, and the wheel screeched to a stop. The boy hopped off and ran, disappearing into the night.

Soda sprang up. "We have to follow him!" he said breathlessly.

Our feet pounded the ground. We ran so long I could feel the chilled night air in my lungs and they burned, and I was beginning to get dizzy. How did that kid have so much energy?

We ended up in the Soc-y part of town. I could tell because the houses were way nicer than they were in our neighborhood.

As we watched, the boy ran up to a house and knocked on the door. A lady let him in, and he disappeared inside.

Before I knew what was happening, Soda had taken off his sweater and put it over my head. "Stay warm. I'm going to go find out what's up."

I stomped my feet and rubbed my hands together, my teeth chattering, hoping no Socs found me. I had seen what they had done to Darry before.

Before long, Soda was back, and looking miserable. "Well, I found out the kid's an orphan named Henry. That lady's an old widow, and I figure Henry got her all buttered up so he could live with her and steal her money."

"How do you figure that?" I asked.

"Well, why else would he be there? Her stunning good looks?"

I guessed Soda was right. "Well, what else?" I demanded.

Soda's face fell. "Well, I tried to tell her Henry's really an old man trying to get her money, and she told me to go home or she'd call the cops. I tried to tell her I was a poor orphan too but she said she recognized me from church and go home."

She probably only remembered Soda from church because Soda can't sit still for two seconds anywhere, let alone church, but I didn't say anything.

"C'mon, let's go home," Soda said.

Before we ran all the way home, something caught my eye in the old widow's window. A light had gone on, and the boy was looking right at Soda and me. He bared his teeth and shook his fist at us. And then the curtain snapped shut.

I swallowed hard and followed Soda along the dark streets.

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We didn't know who to tell. Darry told us we were crazy, and we knew we couldn't tell any of the other guys or our parents if even Darry wouldn't believe us.

We never saw Henry at school. We figured he was being a carnie during the day and a boy at night when he had to go home to the widow. Soda and I hid by the carnival every night to try and get a glimpse of the boy again, but to no avail. All we got were sleepless nights. Soda flunked a math test because he fell asleep in the middle of taking it.

"Aw, I would have failed it anyway," he said. "It's no big—look!" he hissed, pushing me lower and pointing.

The boy was running into the carnival again. He was holding a brown paper bag that was so full it looked like it would burst. I was sure it had the money in it.

The boy got on the Ferris wheel and the dark man at the bottom emerged to switch it on.

Soda grabbed my shoulder. "It's Friday," he said.

"So?" I said, my gaze transfixed on the boy on the Ferris wheel.

"So the carnival's packing up and leaving tomorrow! Everyone's going to be looking for an evil little kid who stole the money, and that man's going to walk out without anyone suspecting a thing!"

Soda and I sprang up simultaneously. We dashed at the dark man. Soda tackled him around the knees so he fell to the ground, and I yanked at the lever at the same time to make it stop.

But I pulled the wrong way. It broke off in my hands. As I stared at it, I could hear the man yelling from the wheel, "It's time to stop!"

Soda was still wrestling the man on the ground. I ran over and, using the piece of the lever that was in my hands, whacked the man on the head. He slumped, and Soda got up, shaking.

"Thanks, Pone," he said, but I pointed up.

The wheel was still turning, and the man was getting older and older. He was in his thirties now…forties…he had gray hair…he had a mass of wrinkles…

"Stop the wheel!" he cried from the wheel. "Stop the wheel…stop the wheel…"

Soda had taken the lever from me without me realizing it, and was trying to figure out how to reattach it. Finally, he found the master switch and wrenched at it, but it was stuck.

"Help me, Pony!" he called.

His voice made my feet move again at last, and we pulled together as hard as we could. I thought my arm might detach from my shoulder.

"Stop the wheel…" the man was still begging from the wheel. "Stop…" eventually, his cries died down.

We finally got the switch unstuck. Soda and I were both thrown back as it finally gave way. The Ferris wheel screeched to a stop.

We scrambled home right away, afraid the man would get off the wheel and chase us down and kill us. We hid under the covers all night.

The next morning, about the whole town was gathered at the carnival grounds to see the sight before the police came and cleaned it up. Darry shook us awake and made us go see it, even though we were too scared the carnival man would be there looking for us.

But it turned out we had nothing to worry about. We moved to the front of the crowd with Darry, and saw what everyone was staring at.

A skeleton sitting on the Ferris wheel, dressed in a suit and a derby hat, a brown paper bag of money clenched in its fist.

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	18. How The Gang Met Their Gals

Chapter 18: How The Gang Met Their Gals

So I've already told you about how Soda met Sandy, but how about the rest of the gang?

Johnny and my stories are easy—we've never had girlfriends. Unless you count the girl I "married" in first grade. She declared me her husband in math class, and bullied me into having a ceremony at recess, preceded over by Pastor Two-Bit.

Dallas met Sylvia—where else?—the county jail. The police had just dragged Dallas in for stealing a Soc's car.

The arresting officer had shoved a handcuffed Dallas into a chair. "You stay there while we pull up your records. Knowing you it'll take all day," he had added with a sneer.

Sylvia was waiting there, too. She was in for shoplifting. Dallas' mean face caught her eye. She was afraid of him, but somehow couldn't stop staring at him either.

He was one of the few JDs who didn't use grease in his hair, which was evident from the way it kept falling in his face and the way he kept tossing his head impatiently, his hands bound, to keep it out of his eyes.

His hair and eyes were both unusual too. Hair so blond it made her jealous. She had to dye her hair every month to keep it that color. She had given up a long time ago and just let it grow in dark brown now. And his eyes were like flint.

Dallas was fifteen then, and . Dally caught her looking at him and demanded, "What're you looking at?"

Dally was a lot less suave then. Not that he's anything close to suave now, but still. If it had been a couple of years later, he would have thrown her a lopsided smirk and said, "Like what you see?" or something.

"Nothing much," Sylvia replied, her voice small but tough.

Dallas' eyes narrowed. He may not have been any good at talking to women, but he had the same disdain for them. "You say something to me?" he said softly.

Sylvia bridled. No way she was going to let this kid get the best of her. "Maybe I did," she said haughtily.

Dallas stood up and walked towards her menacingly. In turn, Sylvia stood up and looked him in the eye.

They stayed that way for a while, neither daring to blink. Finally Dallas asked her what her name was.

"Sylvia. You?" she replied, not daring to break her gaze.

"Dallas. In for stealing a car."

"Shoplifting."

Eventually the police officer came back in to get Sylvia and barked at Dallas to get back in his seat. But not before Dallas had gotten Sylvia's phone number.

Two-Bit's never really had a steady girlfriend. Just a steady stream of blondes. He gets tired of them pretty quickly, mostly because they're too dumb to understand his jokes. Sometimes I wonder if his ideal girl even exists—blonde, curvy, and both smart and trashy. Good luck, Two-Bit.

Steve and Evie…well, they fight a lot, sure, but there's no one else they'd rather be with. Those two have been going steady for so long even I can hardly believe how they started dating in the first place.

They met at one of Buck's wild parties. They drunkenly slept together, and Steve promised to call Evie. Of course he never did; everyone knows how that works. Everyone except Evie, that is.

She stormed into the DX a few days later, demanding to know why he hadn't called her back. Before Steve could stammer out an excuse, she told him they were going out on a date. That very night. For dinner.

"Um…okay…" Steve had managed to say weakly before she flounced out.

And as for Darry…well, Darry's not really the girlfriend type. He hates mushy stuff.

There was this one girl though…

Darry was fourteen. I was eight and Soda was ten. Mom made Darry take us to the park. An actual park, not the vacant lot where all the older greasers smoked and fought.

Darry was bored out of his mind. None of our other friends were there, Soda and I were too little to play football the way he wanted to, and we wanted to play tag anyway.

Soda and I were having so much fun racing around that we didn't notice that Darry was gone in the first place. He told us later that he was busy watching us when a big dog ran over, knocked him down and licked his face until his owner pulled him off.

"Gosh, I'm sorry," the girl said.

"That's okay," Darry said, wiping the spit off his face. He had been pretty peeved, but seeing the girl's face looking down concernedly at him had brightened his mood considerably.

She looked like she was around thirteen, and her hair was a mass of red curls.

The dog was red, too, a massive russet-colored hound. He had sat back immediately when his owner had come over.

Darry's always been pretty vague on what happened next. I know they talked for a long time while Soda and I played with her dog. Boy, did we have fun with that dog.

We played fetch, tried to get her dog, William, to do tricks like roll over and die (Soda demonstrated about a million times, but William never caught on) and we even tried playing tag. William liked tag best, because he loved to run with us.

They didn't go on any dates, or even see each other after that day. Darry didn't even get her number.

"She's a Soc," he told us later by way of explanation. At age eight, I was still relatively unaware of the differences between us and the Socs, because that kind of stuff doesn't matter so much in the second grade, but I knew what Darry meant.

"Darry," I complained. "So what if she's different? You like her and she likes you too, right?"

Darry gave me a look that silenced me right away. "Kid," he said, "if only it were that simple." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "If only it were that simple."

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